Protecting Peggy (18 page)

“Absolutely not.” Joe surged out of the chair. The man might be sixty-one, Rory thought, but he was still
a formidable figure with that whipcord build and linebacker shoulders. “You and I have talked about this, Blake. What Emmett did isn't your fault. If some misguided moron dumped the DMBE into the ranch's water to get back at you for that, we'll deal with him when we find him. For whatever reason Hopechest Ranch is suffering, it needs you at its helm. You hear me, Blake?”

“I hear you, Joe. I'm just not sure you're right.”

Joe's mouth curved. “Well, son, you can have Holly go to all the trouble of typing your letter of resignation and submitting it to the foundation. The problem with that is Meredith and I sit on the foundation's board of directors. My nephew, Jackson, is the foundation's legal advisor. I imagine he'll find some flaw in your letter so he'll have to recommend to the board that we reject your resignation.”

Rory slid Blake a sideways glance. “Looks like you're staying.”

“Yeah.”

Settling his hands on the back of the chair he had vacated, Joe met Rory's gaze. “Let's get back to O'Connell. You said he should have identified the DMBE a few days after he took the first water samples.”

“That's right. The samples I found in Peggy Honeywell's greenhouse are dated the day O'Connell arrived in Prosperino. Because the DMBE is so concentrated in those samples, it took me only two days to ID it.”

“So, he had a reason to keep that information to himself.”

“Yes. While I waited for the results on the samples,
I ran a background check on O'Connell. When he arrived in Prosperino, he was in debt up to his eyeballs. Last week he paid off half the money he owed. He's divorced, has no kids, no immediate family. I can't find any record of a sudden inheritance or anything like that to explain where the money came from.” Rory raised a shoulder. “It's possible he took a trip to Vegas and won big there. My instincts tell me that's not what happened.”

His dark eyes intent, Michael crossed his arms over his chest. “So, at least on the surface, it appears O'Connell somehow figured out who dumped the DMBE in the water. He confronted that person and told them to pay up or else.”

“Yes. I found out O'Connell made a call to the state water commission.” Rory didn't add he discovered that by running a check on the phone number he found during his search of O'Connell's room at Honeywell House. “A clerk at the commission said O'Connell asked if there was a schematic of one of the water aquifers near Hopechest. The aquifer was mapped twelve years ago, so the schematic is no longer reprinted, though it's available in the archives. O'Connell showed up there the next day and took a look at that schematic.”

Joe rubbed his chin. “Which maybe led him to whoever dumped the DMBE.”

“Possibly,” Rory agreed. “Because of O'Connell's unexplained windfall, it looks like that person paid part of the money O'Connell demanded. I say that because it doesn't make sense for him to ask for only half of what it would take to cover his debts. My guess
is, he demanded a hell of a lot more and agreed to take the blackmail payments in installments. The meeting he mentioned to Peggy when he borrowed her station wagon was probably to collect more money from the blackmailer. Whoever he or she is made sure O'Connell wasn't going to be around to talk, or to collect more.”

“If your theory pans out, that makes the dumper a murderer,” Michael said quietly.

“If I'm right about all of this, it does.”

The mayor narrowed his eyes. “You've already told us that a group of ten petroleum companies originally banded together to test DMBE. That means workers in ten different companies have access to DMBE. It's going to take the feds time to look at the records of all those companies, run backgrounds on all of their employees, then check them all out.”

“True,” Rory agreed. “And since we can't come up with a solid motive for why that person dumped the DMBE in the first place, no one can automatically be eliminated from the suspect list.”

Michael rose, hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “In the meantime, I've got to figure out how to tell the city council and the rest of the town that the dumping was a criminal act. As long as the possibility existed that the contaminant got into the water through an act of nature, people were willing to stand back and wait for results. When they find out we know for sure someone dumped the contaminant—and could hit Prosperino's water supply next—I might have a full-scale panic on my hands.”

Joe laid a hand on Michael's shoulder. “We'll get through this.”

Michael gave the older man a wry look. “Have the citizens of Prosperino burned a mayor in effigy anytime in your memory, Joe?”

“No comment.”

Shrugging, Michael leaned across the table, offered Rory his hand. “I appreciate the advance notice on this.”

Rory rose, returned the mayor's handshake. “And I appreciate the use of your Bonanza.” Rory dug into the pocket of his slacks, retrieved the plane's key and handed it to Michael. “You saved me a lot of time and a lot of driving.”

“Glad to have been of help. I'm going back to city hall. I need to phone and advise each of the council members of your findings. I'm scheduling an emergency council meeting for tonight. Can you be there to answer whatever questions come up?”

Rory felt a slash of guilt, quelled it. “Sorry, I'm leaving right after I make those calls to the Bureau and the EPA.” He caught Blake's knowing look before turning back to Michael. “The three of you know as much about this as I do so far. The fact sheets the EPA sent me cover the short-and long-term effects of DMBE consumption. That's probably going to cover most of the questions you'll get tonight.”

Michael angled his head. “What about the pregnant girls?”

Blake rose, stepped around the coffee table. “Just before you got here, I sent Suzanne Jorgenson over to the hospital to outline everything to Doc Colton. You
should have seen her face light up when she read on the fact sheet that it takes years of continued exposure to DMBE to cause birth defects.”

“Sorry I missed seeing her,” Michael murmured, disappointment flashing in his eyes. “She's worried herself sick over the pregnant teens.”

Joe offered Rory his hand and a smile. “Glad to have made your acquaintance, Agent Sinclair. Hope you'll make it back to Prosperino someday.”

“I'm counting on being back soon.” If he could convince Peggy to open her heart to him. He
had
to convince her.

When Joe and Michael strode out the door, Rory headed for Blake's neat-as-a-pin desk. After placing calls to the FBI and EPA to advise both agencies of his findings, he turned to Blake. “Did you find out where the house is at Tahoe?”

“Yes.” Blake pulled a piece of folded paper out of his shirt pocket. “The house belongs to Colt and Thea Newman—they own the art gallery just to the west of the movie theater. Peggy caters receptions at their gallery sometimes. Every year they offer Peggy and Samantha the use of their lake house, but Peggy hasn't taken them up on it before. Thea said Peggy called two days ago and asked if their offer was still open.”

The day he left. Rory fisted his hands, flexed them. “Do you know what she's driving?”

“No. When I talked to Colt, he mentioned Peggy had rented a car, but he didn't say what kind. He also said the house is out of the way and hard to find.” As he spoke, Blake handed the paper to Rory. “Don't lose this.”

“You can bet I won't.” Rory pulled his leather jacket off one of the visitors' chairs, shrugged it on, then slid the paper into his inside pocket.

Blake angled his chin. “Since you're heading to Tahoe, I guess whatever's between you and Peggy is serious.”

“As far as she's concerned, there's nothing between us. I'm hoping to change her mind.” He would beg, promise, fight, do whatever it took to put her back into his life.

Turning, Rory strode toward the door, then paused. “Wish me luck,” he said over his shoulder.

Blake grinned. “You've got it, pal.”

P
eggy closed the door on the small, cozy bedroom Samantha had claimed on the lake house's second floor. It had taken at least thirty minutes to steer her daughter's questions away from the topic of “Mr. Rory” and on to the storybook adventures of Barbie.

Pressing her palm against the tightness that had settled around her heart, Peggy walked soundlessly down the staircase into the large living room that was topped by a loft and skylights. The only light in the room came from the flickering flames in the fieldstone fireplace that dominated one wall. Opposite the fireplace was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on Lake Tahoe. Tonight the moon was full, its silver light shimmering like a fall of diamonds across the dark water.

A coldness more gray than the dawn seeped into
her body, into her very bones, and she heard herself make an anguished little sound. Moving to the fireplace where wood crackled and sparked, she lowered onto the hearth and waited for the fire's heat to sneak through the heavy knit of her sweater.

Over the past two days her anger had died away to misery. Gut-wrenching misery. Here, now, she could admit that what Rory had done had been for her own good. He hadn't kept the fact he was a cop to himself in order to get her into bed. He had remained quiet to protect her from whatever threat Charlie O'Connell presented.

Her thoughts scrolled back to the morning the EPA inspector tripped over Bugs and tumbled down the inn's staircase. The man had stood tight-lipped at the bottom of the stairs, as she'd knelt to comfort a sobbing Samantha. In retrospect, Peggy realized that, for an instant, O'Connell's expression had been almost frightening in its coldness.

Even then, Rory had stepped between them, a protector. If O'Connell was the man who attacked her, Peggy knew without doubt he was capable of much more than cold, killing glares. Rory had sensed that, too.

Rising from the hearth, Peggy skirted around the sofa and armchairs scattered near the fireplace. She roamed past the wall of built-in bookcases, stopping when she reached the expansive window. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stared unseeingly out at the dark lake.

Would she have acted the same way toward Rory—pursued him—if she had known he wore a badge, just
as Jay had? Would she have been strong enough to turn away from that compelling, intense face and those killer-blue eyes that held a hint of danger? Could she have truly resisted the desire that had clawed at her since the first moment she had laid eyes on him?

It didn't matter, she told herself. She hadn't resisted. Sure hadn't been forced. She'd gone after what she wanted, taken it. Now she had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

Which was the real reason she'd closed the inn and brought Samantha to Tahoe. Here, away from the place where memories of Rory assaulted her at every turn, she would heal. Get her balance back.

And get over the infatuation she'd mistaken for love. She didn't love Rory Sinclair, she told herself, stiffening her shoulders. Wouldn't let herself love a man who had probably already wiped all images of her from his mind. A man who excelled at leaving.

She, too, was determined to set her sights on the future, not the past.

A sudden, sharp knock on the front door shot her heart into her throat. Only a few people knew she and Samantha were staying at the cabin. Peggy was expecting none of them.

Veering toward the fireplace, she grabbed the brass poker from its holder. Clenching its thick handle, she willed her legs to stop shaking as she edged cautiously toward the door.

When she peered out the window and saw Rory standing in the pool of the porch light, her already unsteady legs almost gave out. He was wearing his leather bomber jacket over an ice-blue sweater and
dark slacks. His dark hair was mussed; his face stubbled by several days growth of beard.

He looked exhausted and grim-faced.

Slowly, she pulled the door open. “I wasn't expecting you,” she said without expression.

“I know.” His gaze flicked to her hand. “Garden shears, fireplace poker. You always choose interesting weapons, Ireland.”

“How…did you find me?”

His mouth lifted at the corners. “I don't think I need to remind you that I'm a cop.”

“No.” Her throat felt rusty; she braced a hand on the door for balance. “I came here to spend time with my daughter. I don't want you here.”

“Too bad.” In one smooth move he pulled the poker from her grasp, leaned it against the wall, then locked his hands on her shoulders and nudged her back. “Right now I don't give a damn if you want me here or not,” he added as he used one foot to swing the door shut behind him. “I need to talk to you.”

“We've already said all there is to say to each other.” She had to clamp her hands on his upper arms to keep from stumbling while he steered her backward.

“Like hell. I just drove like a maniac across this entire state so I can have my say.” He forced her downward onto the couch that faced the fireplace. “You're going to listen.”

Emotion tightened her throat; air clogged her lungs. She couldn't have spoken if her life depended on it.

He yanked off his jacket, lobbed it into the nearest chair, then stared down at her, his face grim. “Do you know how many people can't make a home? How
many don't have a clue how to nurture their own children?”

Peggy puffed out a surprised breath. She wasn't sure what she had expected him to say, but that wasn't it. “Millions of people make homes and nurture their children.”

“The people I knew didn't,” he said fiercely. “My father sent me away after my mother died. After a while, I stopped hurting over that. I wouldn't let myself hurt. And I wouldn't let myself want what had been taken away from me.” She saw the raw emotion in his eyes as he took a step toward her. “The night I walked into the inn, you gave that back to me. You gave me a home.”

“Which you don't want.”

He held up a hand. “I need to get through this. Let me get through this. Please.”

“All right.”

“Not only did I not want a home, I didn't want to feel anything for you.” He stood facing her, his eyes smoldering with the same intensity as the flames in the fireplace. “I kept telling myself you were like every other woman whose path I had crossed over the years. The harder I worked to convince myself of that, the more obvious the truth became. Still, I didn't want to think you made a difference. Didn't want to believe I couldn't leave you as easily as I have everyone else. When you kicked me out of the inn, I found out I was wrong. For the first time in my life I left a part of myself behind.”

In her heart, she thought, feeling something move inside her. That part of him had stayed behind in her
heart. Tears welled as her mind accepted what she'd fought so hard over the past days to deny. She loved him.

“I never meant to hurt you.” He shoved a hand through his dark hair. “I kept the fact I'm a cop secret to protect you. Someday I hope you'll be able to trust that. I hope you'll believe that I did what I did because I love you.”

She jolted. “You—” She rose slowly. “What did you say?”

Before she could gather her wits, he moved to her, took one of her hands in his own. “I love you and I love Samantha.”

She had to take a step back, had to press a hand against the pressure in her chest. “Why did you have to tell me that? Damn you, why?”

His grip tightened, along with his voice. “Okay, I guess the feeling isn't mutual. Tough luck for me. But that's how I feel.”

She jerked from his hold, clenched her hands into fists. “So, you drove like a maniac across the state to tell me you
love
me?”

His eyes narrowed. “That, and a couple of other things. I thought they were important. Maybe you've got a different spin on that.”

“Do you think it makes it easier for me, knowing how you feel? Knowing the man I've fallen in love with loves me back? That somewhere roaming around the globe is some idiot with rocks in his head who loves me, but doesn't want a life with me?”

“Hold on.” He stepped forward. “You love me? Did I hear you right? You mean it?”

“Yes, and a hell of a lot of good that does me.” She crammed her hands on her hips. “You've made sure I understand who you are,
what
you are. ‘I'm a nomad,'” she tossed out, lowering her voice to imitate his. “‘I don't stay in one place. Leaving is what I do, what I'm good at. I can throw everything I own into my plane and take off without looking back. Ever.'” She dragged in a breath. “It would have been a lot easier for me to get over you if I thought you didn't care.”

“I don't want you to get over me.” Closing the space between them, he brought a hand to her face, skimming back her hair with his fingers, molding her jawline with his palm. “For the last six months I've felt this…restless discontent, like my life had gotten off track. I couldn't put my finger on what had happened. I think it's because I was ready to find a place I belong, one place that means something to me. Someone who means something to me.” His eyes eloquent, he slid his palm around to cup the back of her neck. “Even if you tell me to leave again, I won't. I'm staying in Prosperino. I have to stay. I
need
to stay. I need to convince you to let me back into your life.”

Her breath hitched with joy; tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Don't cry.” He thumbed away her tears. “For God's sake, Ireland, don't cry. My job isn't like Jay's was. I do most of my work in a lab. I visit crime scenes after the fact.” He shook his head. “But, if you want me to give it up, I will. I'm crazy about you. You're the only woman I've ever wanted to spend my
life with. I'll do whatever it takes to have you and Samantha back in my life, for the rest of my life.”

Her heart overflowed. He loved her and Samantha. Wanted them. He would stay.

She settled her palm against his chest, felt the reassuring beat of his heart. “When you left, I felt the same kind of emptiness I did when Jay died.” Tears burned her throat, thickening her voice. “I would have felt that way, no matter what you did for a living. I didn't fall in love with the badge. I fell in love with the man. I don't want you to go. I don't want you to stop being a cop.”

He gathered her close, dipped his head and skimmed his mouth across hers. “The lab in San Francisco has an opening. I have my plane. I can commute there every day and come home every night. Let me come home to you, Ireland.”

“Yes.” She couldn't get enough of him as she tasted, touched as if she had never known a man before. In that moment she could remember no others. Only him.

Smiling up at him, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “Welcome home.”